


Authentic Experience

by scheherazade



Category: Running Man RPF
Genre: M/M, rated for innuendo, that's it that's the fic, two idiots flirting over dim sum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: “Yeah, no. I’m not eating that.”“Hyung! You have to try it! It’s a cultural experience!”





	Authentic Experience

**Author's Note:**

> a short thing i wrote for sen a billion years ago. the jongkook/kwangsoo tag is all sad and quiet, so [throws this at the universe]

“Yeah, no. I’m not eating that.”

“Hyung! You have to try it! It’s a cultural experience!”

“I’ve experienced plenty of culture without needing to eat deep-fried— Ya!”

A couple heads turn at the indignant yelp, and Kwangsoo hurriedly dabs at the grease stain that’s materialized on Jongkook’s shirt. In his defense, the shirt would have been fine if Jongkook had just opened his mouth to eat the radish cake Kwangsoo had been trying to feed him.

Speaking of which—

“What,” Jongkook splutters, “are you doing?!”

“I dropped the food,” Kwangsoo explains, from somewhere in the vicinity of Jongkook’s crotch — which is about as far down as he can stoop without getting out of his chair. He peers under the tablecloth.

His nose gets an abrupt introduction to Jongkook’s knee. Kwangsoo reels back, hand clapped to his face.

“Hyung!”

“We’re in public!” Jongkook hisses. His face is almost the same color as the lantern hanging above their heads.

Kwangsoo slowly lowers his hand. “Sorry. I just thought.” He carefully folds the napkin and puts it beside his plate. “I just thought you’d like it, maybe.”

“You know I don’t like fried stuff.”

“You like the stuff my mom cooks.” Kwangsoo snorts at the look on Jongkook’s face. “Even if you’re just being polite.”

“Yeah, well.” Jongkook rubs the back of his neck. “She always looks like she’s two seconds from crying. I don’t want to upset her.”

“You don’t upset her. She’s ready to cry with happiness everytime she sees you. Besides,” Kwangsoo grins, “Mom’s always wanted a son like you.”

Jongkook stares at him for a second.

Then he turns even redder, which shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe it’s the restaurant lighting. Kwangsoo wants to kiss him.

“Shut up,” Jongkook mutters.

Kwangsoo hums and pours more tea. “Okay.”

“And no more fried food.”

“No more feeding you fried food in public, got it.”

“Kwangsoo,” says Jongkook warningly.

“And no more trying to feel you up under a restaurant table either, I know.” Kwangsoo passes the napkin as Jongkook chokes on a sip of tea. “Even if I know you secretly liked that part.”

Jongkook slams the teacup down on the table. “We’re leaving.” His face is still beet red. He takes out his wallet, not making eye contact. “Now.”

“You don’t have to pay to get me to put out, you know.”

“Can I pay to get you to shut up and get the hell out of here?” Jongkook throws a couple bills onto the table and speed walks out of the restaurant.

Kwangsoo grins to himself and follows. Jongkook is waiting for him right outside, practically vibrating with tension.

Kwangsoo pauses to peer at the front of Jongkook’s shirt; he presses two fingers to the blotchy stain marring the cloth. “We should put that in the wash. Maybe I can—”

Jongkook grabs his wrist and yanks him close, breath hot against his ear when he says, 

“You’ll need to wash a lot more than just a shirt by the time I’m done with you, Lee Kwangsoo.”

It’s a good thing nobody around them speaks Korean. Or so he hopes. Though at the moment, Kwangsoo doesn’t really care. The noise of the street swallows up their conversation. Or maybe that’s just the buzzing in his ears.

“Well,” Kwangsoo hears himself say, “good thing we’re staying at a hotel.”

Jongkook blinks — then snorts and releases him. “You would say something that.”

“I’m just pointing out facts. Like I always do.”

“Right, because you’re just a walking encyclopedia of truth.”

“I tell no lies.” Kwangsoo falls into step beside him, sticking close to the curb to avoid the worst of the pedestrian traffic. “You know that, right?”

“Know what?”

“That I mean what I say.”

Jongkook side-steps to avoid a little old grandma, and the motion causes him to bump into Kwangsoo. Kwangsoo catches him, hand lingering a second longer than strictly necessary, maybe. Jongkook gives him a look.

Kwangsoo sticks his hands back in his pockets, smiling. “My mom’s not the only one who likes you, you know.”

The tips of Jongkook’s ears turn pink. But he’s smiling, too, that pleased little smile that’s nothing like the cocky grin he puts on for the cameras. Kwangsoo likes this one the best.

“Shut up about your mom,” Jongkook mutters. “You’d think I was dating her or something.”

Kwangsoo laughs. “As if I’d let anyone else have you.”

“Yeah, well.” Jongkook bumps his shoulder again, lightly this time, completely of his own volition. There’s still a faint blush on his cheeks, a grease stain on his shirt, and a smile on his lips — and Kwangsoo is proud to say that he is responsible for all three. “Good.”


End file.
